


The Weight of Fear

by kathers



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Co-Parents to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathers/pseuds/kathers
Summary: It’s been ten years since they met in Jerusalem, and Yusuf thinks Nicolò might just be the most infuriating, confusing man he’s ever met. It doesn’t stop Yusuf from sharing a night of passion with him, though. But he’s even more confused the morning after. He needs to clear his head without Nicolò’s unnerving gaze and clumsy Arabic. Who cares if it’s ten years or a hundred before they cross paths again? It’s a long life.But Yusuf left more than just Nicolò behind. Nicolò wakes up and he’s penniless, he can’t speak the native language, he’s with child, and he’s alone. Completely, utterly alone.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 27
Kudos: 566





	The Weight of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4011.html?thread=1216683#cmt1216683
> 
> After over 10 years of reading fic, this is the first thing I’ve ever written. This is scary stuff! Major love to all the writers out there; I’ve got a new level of love for y’all. Feedback is VERY appreciated.

The first thing he noticed as he slowly awakened was the smell. The air was ripe with the evidence of what passed between them last night. There could be no mistaking it. 

His next thought was of Nicolò. Their paths had collided almost a decade ago, and since then they’d been traveling together. They had been sticking to dusty country roads and avoiding towns where their acquaintance would raise eyebrows at best, swords at worst. 

Nicolò was lying turned towards Yusuf. For once, Yusuf had arisen first. After the evening Nicolò had, Yusuf wasn’t surprised. He was glad to have a quiet moment to collect his thoughts before Nicolò could direct his pale, unnerving gaze at him. A moment without hearing his clumsy tongue botch every language he tried to communicate to Yusuf with. 

Was Nicolò the most infuriating man he’d ever met? He must be. If there had been another in his past, even someone met in passing, he surely would have remembered. He contradicted himself at every turn. The galling arrogance to come to this place, intent on reclaiming something that had never been his in the first place, with no knowledge of the people or their language. And then, how determined he was to learn Yusuf’s Arabic. As they rode each day, Nicolò would point to objects and sites along the way and slowly say their names in his native tongue. Yusuf could see the hope in Nicolò’s eyes when he looked at him and carefully enunciated each word. He could tell Nicolò wanted him to translate and teach it back to him. Yusuf rarely gave him the satisfaction. It was Nicolò’s own fault for coming to a strange land without knowing so much as “please and thank you” in its language. 

The care and affection he showed their horses as he fed them oats and morsels of fruit. The madness and gore of their first meeting. The tears in his eyes when they had buried a family who had been robbed and left for dead. He came to Jerusalem to kill these people; what did he care if someone else did it for him? All of the people to share the strange gift of immortality with, why this man?

Nicolò was a puzzle. One that Yusuf was not interested in solving. No thank you. Most definitely not. 

As much as Nicolò infuriated him, he wasn’t above sex with the man, though. As they’d learned last night. 

It honestly surprised Yusuf that it had taken it this long to come to this. He wasn’t immune to Nicolò’s looks. His thighs flexing around his horse as they rode. His arms, lightly freckled and covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he pulled a bow string taut. His blue-green eyes that seemed to look straight through him sometimes. And then there was his scent. 

Yusuf had assumed Nicolò was a beta when they met in Jerusalem. He was covered in so much filth that he had hardly even looked human, so it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t smelled it then. And with the state of the Christians’ camp and supply lines, Nicolò had been skin and bones underneath it all. His body had bigger concerns than producing pheromones, such as keeping him from starving. 

But as they’d traveled together and been able to feed themselves better, Yusuf had taken notice. His scent grew stronger all the time, and Yusuf wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d been struggling with it for the last few years.

Yusuf knew a good-looking man when he saw one. And he’d seen plenty in his lifetime. He had enjoyed the company of many, and he had not liked all of them. You didn’t need to love someone, or even like them, to enjoy a night of pleasure. 

As they’d made camp two nights ago, it hit a fever pitch. Nicolò had been acting skittish and strange all day, and Yusuf could tell his heat, his first in almost a decade, would start soon. Seemingly without meaning to, Nicolò sat closer to Yusuf than he ever had as they sat by the fire and cooked and shared their evening meal. Squirming in his seat, subconsciously listing towards Yusuf and breathing him in. 

It had seemed so simple to lean in, press a bruising kiss onto Nicolò’s lips, lead him into the dark cave they sat outside of, pin him to his bedroll, and fuck him for the next day and night. 

It had been good. Too good. Yusuf had been with omegas before, but it had never been like this. It didn’t hang heavily in the air afterwards, even when it had been a few hours since Nicolò has slipped out of his heat and into a deep sleep, and Yusuf tumbled back to his own bed roll. 

He looked so peaceful as they laid there, curled in on himself, one hand reaching out towards Yusuf. He had an irrational urge to grab it. 

There had to be an explanation for this. The smell of their joining was clouding his judgment. It made him resent Nicolò even more. 

He needed to clear his head. He couldn’t be here when Nicolò woke. There were a million ways he could react to what had passed between them, and each one terrified Yusuf more than the last. 

As quietly as he could, he gathered his things and slipped out the cave. He sent up a silent thank you to God when he turned back at the mouth of the cave and saw Nicolò still slumbering peacefully. 

He mounted his horse and rode off with the rising sun warming his face. 

—

Nicolò awoke to the sound of hoofbeats retreating away from him. Before he even opened his eyes, he knew what sight would greet him. Yusuf was gone. 

Nicolò felt a moment of relief followed by a wave of disappointment. He wouldn’t have to face the awkwardness of the morning after, the disdain in Yusuf’s eyes as he remembered Nicolò’s wanton behavior. 

But even amidst the fogginess of his first heat in years, he had hoped this might be a new start for him and Yusuf. In the few lucid moments he’d had yesterday, he remembered seeing something different in Yusuf’s eyes. Something warmer than his usual cool demeanor. Something that saw him, instead of ignoring him. It made him think that the years that stretched in front of them needn’t be so lonely and hostile. 

But Yusuf had shown time and time again in the last decade that he had no interest in being Nicolò’s friend, let alone his friend that fucked him through his heats when he thought he might die of lust. So Nicolò shoved down his pang of disappointment. 

He still felt sticky and dirty. A mixture of road dust, sweat, and spend from his knees to his chest. He found a scrap of cloth and his water skin and cleaned himself as best he could until he could find a suitable place to wash up fully. Either a quiet stretch of river, or maybe even splurging on an inn for the evening. He’d never spent a heat squirming in the dirt before, and one indulgence wouldn’t hurt.

As he broke camp, he realized suddenly that an inn for the night was out of the question. With the face and the sword of a Christian invader, who would rent a room to him? Nicolò could hopefully get by with gestures and his rudimentary Arabic to communicate his wants, but without Yusuf he would be regarded with suspicion. 

He was accustomed to living rough, though, so he put it out of his mind as he rode off with no particular destination in mind. 

—

So maybe life without Yusuf was a little rougher than he anticipated. Without his companion, he’d managed to find a few odd jobs helping other travelers along the road in the past month or two, but most kept a wide berth. So he laid low, kept his head down, and made camp far from where he might be caught unaware by bandits.

And it was lucky he was able to find places like that, since he’d been hit with a wave of fatigue that didn’t seem to ever let up. Though he seemed to be able to sleep from sundown to sunup, he still felt tired and queasy almost every day. He had thought healing from any wound meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with something as trivial and unpleasant as a stomach flu, but he was proven wrong every morning when he woke up and promptly threw up what little he’d managed to eat for breakfast. 

He found himself moving on less and less, camping out in the same place for multiple nights because he couldn’t be bothered to keep moving. He suspected his horse was getting restless. 

He had all the time in the world, so he kept up this lazy pace, and the weeks dragged by. Even though Yusuf had rarely deigned to speak to him, Nicolò found himself missing the fragile peace they’d built since leaving Jerusalem together, both with the knowledge that whatever life they knew before was gone now. 

One evening almost three months since Yusuf’s departure, Nicolò came across an abandoned farmhouse. He doubted it had been occupied in decades. The dust was thick and there were holes in the roof, but the stars were starting to shine above and he didn’t see any rain on the horizon. He dusted off the old bedding as best he could and fell asleep easily, worn out by the nausea that never seemed to leave him these days. 

He dreamt of his mother. A few months along with child and stroking the stomach where his youngest sister rested. He can still see her sweet smile and hear her quietly explaining to Nicolò that he would be a big brother again soon. He couldn’t have been more than four years old, but he could still remember pressing his hands to her stomach and feeling his sister kick against him. He had loved her instantly. 

He woke with a start. Nicolò was not one to remember his dreams, with the exception of strange flashes of two warrior women, riding and slashing their way across wide open plains. He had seen one of them die and gasp back to life once, and thought maybe she was like him. He’d wondered at the time if Yusuf dreamt of the same, but he didn’t have the words to ask. 

So why would he dream of something he hadn’t recalled in years? With a cold drip of dread running down his spine, he suddenly remembered his first heat. Back at the monastery. How he’d been sent to a cabin across the fields to endure it alone. How he’d been told he should give his body and heart over to Christ, not an alpha and the child that he, as an omega, could carry for him. 

The idea of him carrying a child had seemed so ridiculous he hadn’t spared a thought for it ever again. He was a man of God, and his heats had always been so infrequent and never longer than a day or two. They had faded in his mind to a minor annoyance to be dealt with every few years, and he never again thought of their true purpose: signaling to Nicolò and any alpha who smelled him that he was at his most fertile. 

His nausea hit a new high as he realized what must be true. What his body and his dreaming mind were trying to tell him. He didn’t think it would have been possible with his new immortality. He had thought of his body as frozen in amber now. Never to grow, never to change. But that wasn’t strictly true, was it? Did he not still have to trim his nails, cut his hair? He remembered when he’d tried to cut it himself after Jerusalem. How matted with dirt it had been. How Yusuf had grudgingly helped him shear off the places in the back he couldn’t easily reach. 

No, there could be no denying it. He was with child. Yusuf’s child. Almost exactly three months along if memory served. 

—

He scarcely slept a wink after his realization. He laid awake each night, stroking his stomach where now that he was paying attention, he could feel a small curve starting to take shape.

He rarely left his little cabin. He checked the snares he had set up in the quiet patch of woods surrounding him, too scared to venture out far and hunt with his bow. He went to the nearby stream to gather water. But mostly he laid down on his bedroll, paralyzed by fear. 

His mind raced as he desperately tried to think of a way this wouldn’t end in tragedy. He couldn’t blame Yusuf for leaving him after their night together; he couldn’t have known what he’d left behind inside Nicolò. 

But all the problems he’d had before now seemed infinitely worse. He wouldn’t just attract suspicion if he went into the nearby town. Soon his rounded belly would say something far more dangerous: that he was vulnerable and alone. Without a mate by his side. Unable to defend himself. 

He could survive any attack done to him, but what of the baby? If he succumbed to his injuries, would he gasp back to life with a cold, empty womb? He was terrified to find out. 

And how was he to feed himself then? In a matter of weeks, he’d be unable to go to town for any reason at all. He’d have to make do with what he could trap and forage for himself. He was already thinner from the few months spent living like this, and he knew it would only get worse as the baby’s appetite grew. 

Soon a plan began to take shape. He couldn’t travel in his state; suddenly riding a horse seemed like the most dangerous, foolhardy thing he’d ever done. The animal could buck him off any time it felt like it, sending him and the baby into the dirt. Not to mention all the dangers his fellow travelers posed. 

No, he’d have to stay here until the child was born. And since he’d no plans to mount his horse any time soon, one day he went to town to sell the gentle mare, about a month since realizing he was pregnant. 

He kept his head down and his cloak pulled close to cover his fair hair and skin as he went through the market. With the money from the horse, he was able to buy a decent amount of supplies. The only time he thought the game was over was as he went into the local inn and took a table in the corner, eating a bowl of stew and generally trying to avoid notice. He savored every bite, knowing it was the last food he wouldn’t catch and prepare for himself for a long time. As he ordered from the woman who looked to be the proprietor of the place, he swore her gaze was so direct, she saw right through him. That she knew what was under his cloak. But eventually her gaze turned into a weary smile, and she served his stew and kept moving.

He made it back to his little farmhouse without incident, nearly tripping over himself in fear to get back to safety. He knew the bulky cloak he wore hung loose around him, but he was convinced anyone who saw him would smell it on him, so he gave everyone as wide a berth as he could. 

After the excitement of his excursion, the months he would spend alone stretched out in front of him. He missed Yusuf more than ever, and not just for the protection he offered. He missed hearing his charcoal dance across the page as he sketched by firelight. The riotous way his curls stuck up in the morning. The musical cadence of his voice on the rare occasions he translated a word into Arabic for him. All the little things about Yusuf that had once annoyed him slipped away into nothing. 

His body seemed to shrink in on itself as the days went by. He was four months along now, and if there’d been anyone around to see him, it would be apparent immediately. But as his bump grew, the rest of him was withering. 

Without enough food to sate his now ravenous appetite, he noticed his arms and legs losing their muscle. The way his clothes hung loosely off every part of him, except where they began to stretch tight over his stomach. And worst of all, the hunger that gnawed at him almost constantly. 

—

Without Nicolò at his side, Yusuf continued on as they had been more almost a decade. His routine changed little, although making and breaking camp with one person was more of a chore, and he missed Nicolò’s skill with a bow on nights he had to content himself with stale bread for dinner. 

After a few months of this, he found himself in Tripoli. Far enough north of Jerusalem and certainly far enough from Tunis that he doubted he’d see anyone from his old life here. 

He found he was tired of the road and could stand to settle down for a bit. He’d had good luck finding work, offering his sword to fellow travelers, so he had enough coin to let a quiet room near the port. One day soon after his arrival, he was walking near the docks and heard the snatches of the same bastardized Latin he recognized from Nicolò’s constant attempts to teach it to him in exchange for Arabic. While Nicolò’s gambit had failed, Yusuf knew enough to recognize it. It made him feel strangely sad for reasons he couldn’t say. 

He still couldn’t explain why he walked up to the fishermen that day and asked for work. He could have found a thousand other men who actually spoke his language to work for. But soon it had been a few months since his arrival in Tripoli, and his Genoese grew stronger by the day. He told himself he only learned it so he could rub Nicolò’s nose in it. His Arabic was was sure to still be poor the next time they saw each other. And it was a long life. They’d see each other again. 

After he paid his landlady and bought his food, he spent most of what was left on charcoal and paper. He started off sketching the view of the sea from his window and vague outlines of some of the more interesting people he met in Tripoli. 

But more and more he found himself sketching the same face. Without his realizing it most of the time, his mind would wander and he’d look up from his sketches to find he’d been drawing the same face for hours. Pale eyes, deep-set below strong brows. An aquiline, just slightly too big nose. A small mole, perfectly placed on his right cheek. 

He realized that he missed Nicolò each time he had to hastily hide what should have been lasting injuries from his fellow crewmen. The burden of his new life felt heavier without his companion, even if Yusuf begrudged his presence most of the time. Now, the years he may have to spend alone stretched out in front of him with no end in sight. He felt their weight keenly. 

What would it have looked like if he’d stayed with Nicolò that morning? Watched him return to himself and face Yusuf? What look would he have found in Nicolò’s eyes? Would it have been fondness, a new bond forged by Yusuf taking care of Yusuf in his hour of need? Or anger with himself for laying with Yusuf, for be willing to lay with a man who’d shown him nothing but contempt?

He was ashamed to say that he knew he deserved the latter, but now would have liked to receive the former. As he thought more on his time with Nicolò, he realized he’d been unfair to the man. He was kind to everyone they encountered on the road. And even when they had no money to pay Yusuf and Nicolò for their services, he still gladly lent a hand. 

He thought now of his own loneliness and the naked hope in Nicolò’s eyes as he sought to pull Arabic words from Yusuf. Nicolò was in a strange, hostile land, couldn’t speak the language, and his only company had been so cold to him. 

He thought again of Nicolò’s grief as they had buried that family. How he had frozen in anger when they saw the burned out caravan and the bodies of those who had owned it. How he had put his anger aside and set to the grim task of burying them all. How the tears finally slipped out as he set mother and child next to each other in the ground. 

He was ashamed of how in the dark of his room, he thought of his last night with Nicolò. Spread out below him, head thrown back in ecstasy as Yusuf drove into him and spent inside him for what felt like hours. How when his knot had swelled inside Nicolò, they’d fit together so perfectly. Any pleasure he got from the memory was a pale imitation of that night, and all the nights they could have had since, if Yusuf hadn’t been such a coward and a fool. 

—

Nicolò was well and truly confined to his farmhouse now. He had never been so glad he sold the horse, because there would be no use for her now. 

He was about seven months gone, and he found he hardly the energy to do anything these days. It took all his strength to just check his snares and collect what wild berries and firewood he could, fill his water skin, and prepare his daily portion of his dwindling rations. 

Mostly he just sat by the fire. He sat closer than he ever had before, but it seemed he was always cold these days. He wanted to conserve his energy, and spent all day willing what little strength to go to his baby, not him. 

The fear got worse every day as he obsessed over each bite of food, each weak kick that he knew should have been stronger by now. 

The first moment he felt the baby stir inside him, it was like lightning had struck. It was as subtle as a horse’s whiskers brushing against his hand, but the force of it almost knocked him over. For all the trouble this baby has caused him, he knew then he’d do anything for them. To keep them safe. Keep them fed. Keep them happy, even if they never found Yusuf and it was just the two of them together.

He missed Yusuf like he was a phantom limb. Every stirring of the baby of the baby reminded Nicolò of him and what they had shared. Would he hate Nicolò when he saw him again? Resent how he had trapped him and tied their lives and fates together even more inextricably?

Or worse, would he see the many ways that Nicolò was not fit to be a father? How he struggled to care for their child? How he lived this wretched existence, trapped here in this hovel by his fear of the outside world? How even after the baby came, he wondered how he could travel safely with something so precious and so fragile, when he still struggled to string a sentence together in Arabic?

This was Yusuf’s land, Yusuf’s people. He could take one look at the state of Nicolò, grab their child, and be back on his way to Tunis before Nicolò could do anything to stop him.

So as much as he wished to see Yusuf again, he prayed he would never see him like this. That if he came across Yusuf again, it was with their child strong and healthy, and Nicolò caring for them without fear. 

—

Andromache and Quynh gasped awake at the same moment. The dreams had been happening for years since the two men had met in Jerusalem and discovered their immortality when the other one just wouldn’t stay dead. 

But this was different. Quietly much more horrific than any of the bloody things the men had done to each other when they met on the battlefield. 

They’d seen a few months ago that they’d parted ways, but they hadn’t seen why. They weren’t worried; it was natural to need space when you had so much time to fill. They’d also once seen a glimpse of passion between the two, but needing space was a lover was nothing to worry over. 

Andromache and Quynh had spent years roaming apart and eventually coming back together, delighting in telling the other what they’d seen and falling back together like no time had passed. 

But this was new. They had seen flashes of a life by the sea. Boisterous laughter as fishermen worked together, quiet nights when Yusuf—they’d finally heard a snatch of another fisherman addressing the man—sat by his window and sketched for hours. 

They’d seen less of the Christian, just him keeping to himself in the woods. He wasn’t traveling, which made them curious. What was holding him to this seemingly meaningless patch of forest he had taken up residence in?

Now they had their answer. In every dream they’d had so far, the man was wrapped in his loose cloak, even when the sun shone high above him. But this time, he’d been sprawled out on his bedroll, curled in on himself in fear. “Yusuf, please,” he cried. He thrashed in his sleep and threw his cloak away from himself. 

His round stomach, tunic stretched tight across it, was impossible to miss. 

“Come back to me, please” he begged. “Please don’t take them from me!”

The man had gasped awake and immediately clutched his stomach and sobbed. He stroked the bump and offered comforting words that seemed meant to convince himself as much as the baby. 

“One day it won’t be like this anymore. I’ll have enough food for the both of us, and it will be like this never happened. And if we find him again, Yusuf will understand. He’ll see how hard I tried to keep us safe. I’ll make him see. And even if he won’t, I’ll make it better. I promise you. I promise I’ll fix everything.”

“He’s pregnant.” Quynh and Andromache said at the same time. 

“Did you hear what he said, Quynh?”

“How could I miss it?”

“How could Yusuf do this to him? What could he possibly have done to make him think Yusuf would take the child away?”

“I have no idea, but I mean to find out.” Quynh declared with righteous anger behind her eyes. 

As though the universe sought to grant Quynh her wish, they dreamt the next night of Yusuf in more vivid detail than ever before. They could hear more of the language the passerby spoke, see more of the city. He was in Tripoli, no more than a few weeks by boat from where they were on the northern coast of Africa. 

They packed their bags, headed to the docks, and were on a merchant ship to Tripoli that same night. 

—

Nicolò was more tired than he’d ever been, and the baby made simply existing the most uncomfortable ordeal he’d ever been through. His miraculous healing couldn’t fix aches and pains that never relented, the source of them safely tucked inside. 

He was almost eight months along, if he had been tracking the days correctly. And with so little else to occupy his time, he prayed that he had. 

He knew almost nothing about how to birth a baby. There would have been no need for him to know. Any memory of his mother laboring with his sisters was lost to time, and he would have never been taught such things at the monastery. No, he would only have his bodily instincts and his fading strength to guide him through. He’d found a cache of old rags hidden in the farmhouse, and he did his best to clean them and turn them into diapers for when the time came. 

Thank God he’d had the sense to buy a some cloth, needles, and thread his last time at the market those many months ago. He tried his best to sew them into something resembling clothes and blankets for the baby. It would never be enough, but it was all he could do. 

One morning, Nicolò woke up slowly and could tell something was wrong. His usual discomfort had increased tenfold, and his back ached like it never had before. His womb was cramping, there was blood in his trousers, and even his limited knowledge of childbirth told him what was happening. 

It was too soon. The baby would be too weak, too small. He could heal from the ordeal, but what of his child? How could they possibly survive coming into the world, weeks too soon and into such a hostile, ill-equipped place?

He let himself cry and despair for only a few moments, though. He had made it this far. He’d done it all by himself. He may be weaker, thinner, and more terrified than he’d ever been, but he wouldn’t fall apart now. 

He used what little strength he had to build the fire back up and spread his bed out beside it. There was a chill on the air, and he wouldn’t have his child freeze as soon as they drew their first breath. 

The cramping got worse and worse until it felt like it never slacked off at all. He wanted to scream with the pain of it, but as it had for the last eight months, fear stopped him again. What if he was heard? There shouldn’t be anyone this deep in the woods in the beginning of winter, but he feared it nonetheless and bit through his tongue more than once keeping his pain to himself. 

Finally after what must have been a full day and night, he felt the sudden need to push. He was so exhausted and famished that he had no clue how he’d make it through. 

If he thought he’d given every ounce of strength he had to keeping his baby fed and safe inside him, he’d been wrong. He clenched his fists so tight he could feel his nails breaking the skin and pushed with all his might. He reached down between his legs and felt a tuft of impossibly soft hair on top of a skull so delicate it felt it might be made of glass. 

Everything burned. Everything hurt. But he had a new resolve as he pushed again, reached down and felt the dome of a head slip further out. It was almost over. He was so close. 

A few more pushes and he had a whole head in his hands, and after that a tiny body slipped out as easy as anything. 

He looked down at what all his pain, all his fear and suffering had brought him. A tiny thing, seemingly impossibly so, bright red, wrinkly, and with a full head of thick black hair. She couldn’t have been more perfect. And silent. 

As if she sensed her father’s fear beginning to grow, she took a deep breath, opened her gummy mouth, and let out a cry so loud there could be no doubt that she was alive and well. 

He used his dagger to cut the cord tying them together and wrapped her in his thickest, warmest blanket. He brought her to chest so she wouldn’t feel so keenly this new distance between them. 

“Shh, bambina, Papa is here.”

Her response was to nuzzle further into his chest, instinctively searching for nourishment. Nicolò tore aside his tunic and brought her to his chest, where she immediately latched on and sucked with voracious hunger. He could feel his milk let down and flow through to her, and he was so relieved. Tears had been slipping out for hours, but now he began to cry in earnest. His daughter had made it through, and now he was giving her everything she needed to grow. 

Teardrops landed on her little head, and her eyes opened at that moment and stared up at Nicolò. He couldn’t be sure how well she could see him with her scrunched up, newborn gaze, but he saw his whole world reflected back to him in her blue-green eyes. 

—

Andromache and Quynh stepped onto the docks of Tripoli that same day. On their last night on the ship, they had seen the Christian laboring all alone to bring his child into the world, felt his seemingly boundless pain and fear. And now they were more determined than ever to confront one of the sources of that pain. 

Without a thought for all the staring they caused as two strangely dressed women running through the thick crowd in the port, they raced to where they hoped to find Yusuf. They knew he worked as a fisherman, and had seen him speaking Genoese to his fellow crew-members. It was a good enough place to start. 

They skulked through the docks hoping to hear snatches of conversation in the dialect they were looking for. After over an hour of searching, they heard it. Yusuf’s gregarious laugh as he slapped another man on the back, tucked his day’s wages safely in his pack, and set off for home. 

Quynh gave chase immediately, meaning to stop him then and there and make him answer for all the pain they’d seen him cause. 

“Patience, Quynh. We’ll follow him home and have this conversation in private.” 

Andromache led the way, keeping a safe distance as they trailed him back to the humble boardinghouse he’d taken a room in. As silent as shadows, they slipped past the landlady downstairs and crept up to Yusuf’s room. 

As they opened the door, it was obvious he had realized he was being followed, for he already had a dagger in hand and made to rush at them. He was no match for Quynh, though. Before he took two steps, she had grabbed him, disarmed him, and driven his own dagger through his hand, pinning him to his desk. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t stab your other hand and leave you trapped here for the next century.” she hissed at him. 

“It’s you. The both of you. How did you find me?”

“The same way we found each other when we met millennia ago. The dreams.” Andromache explained. 

“You saw me here? Working the docks? Does that mean you also saw-“ Yusuf stopped himself as though he was too scared to hear the question answered, the pain of his hand all but forgotten.

“Yes, we saw you and recognized the city. You made it easy to track you down. How many Tunisians do you find working on a Genoese fishing boat? We heard the language and knew how to find you. I’m Andromache, and this is Quynh. We share your newly acquired talent.”

At this, Quynh twisted the knife as if to show him that although they couldn’t kill him, they could cause him a great deal of pain. 

“Is this how you greet all your new friends? What have I done to you?”

“Nothing. It’s what you’ve done to him.” Quynh seethed. 

“Who are you talking about? Do you mean Nicolò? Have you seen him?”

“If Nicolò is the man you so callously abandoned, then yes, we’ve seen him.” 

“What do you know? Where is he? Is he okay?”

Andromache felt her own fury rise to match Quynh’s at this: “No he’s most certainly not okay. He’s more alone, terrified, and vulnerable than any person should ever be.”

Andromache saw Yusuf turn as white as a ghost, and she nodded at Quynh to release the knife. He looked like he’d be sick any moment. “Tell me,” he croaked. 

“We saw flashes of him for months. By himself in the same abandoned farmhouse. Not moving, not traveling. We couldn’t figure out why until a few weeks ago. And then we saw him more clearly. He’s with child. Your child, Yusuf.”

—

If Yusuf thought he would be sick before, he was certain now it would come any moment. 

“How?” was the first thing he could say. 

Quynh let out a bitter bark of laughter. “How? What do mean ‘how’? How does an omega usually get pregnant?” 

As he had most nights since they parted, Yusuf thought back to his last night with Nicolò. Knotting him and pumping him full for his seed for hours. The way Nicolò had been so full of Yusuf and his spend that his lower abdomen seemed swollen with it. 

“We’re immortal! We don’t die, we don’t age! How can this have happened?”

Andromache looked like she took some pity at the abject horror in his tone. “Your guess is as good as ours. We’re both betas, something like this has never happened before.”

“Did you know what you’d done when you up and left him?” Quynh asked while still shooting daggers at him with her eyes. 

“No! Of course not! It was... complicated with Nicolò and me, but I would have never left him if I’d known. You say he’s all alone, truly?”

“Yes, we haven’t seen him coming or going in months.” Andromache told him. 

“Oh god, what have I done? How could I condemn him to this? He doesn’t speak Arabic; I refused to teach him. He’s always feared straying into towns. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome. He knew they’d try to hurt him. And I knew it too, and I left him all the same. What if they kill him, what if they kill the baby?”

“Well that would solve this problem nicely for you wouldn’t?” Quynh shot at him. 

Even Andromache, used to how casually cruel she could be when she wanted to, winced at Quynh’s tone. 

“How could you say that? I would never; that’s my child you speak of, you vile wo-“

“That’s enough excuses out of you. We’ve wasted enough time already. Surely you can understand why we might think you callous enough.” Andromache snapped. “His labor began yesterday, and it goes without saying we must find him. You’ll tell us where you last saw him, and then you can come with us or not.”

“It was along the coast, north of Tartus. We’d been heading north, but when I fled, I turned around back towards Tripoli so we wouldn’t run into each other on the road.”

“How thoughtful of you.” Quynh said. 

“You couldn’t possibly make me feel worse about this than I already do.” Yusuf whispered, mostly to himself. 

“Well I mean to try regardless.” Quynh responded. 

And so he packed what little possessions he’d accumulated during his time in Tripoli, watched Andromache barter for three horses, and then set out on the road north of the city, his thoughts never once straying from Nicolò. How at this moment, he was going through unimaginable pain, entirely by himself. Trapped in a prison Yusuf and his selfishness had built for him. 

He despaired that they wouldn’t find him. That he’d comb the earth for years and never again lay eyes on Nicolò and their precious child. Or worse, find Nicolò only to hear that their child had never lived. Never had a chance because Yusuf had abandoned them, alone, penniless, and surrounded by enemies. 

He was haunted by his memories of his too-short time with Nicolò. How he always had a smile and a helping hand to spare to every mother or father they met on the road. The raw pain and regret in his eyes as he laid those poor children to rest. His thirst for knowledge, and how desperately lonely he must have been, even then, to try time and time again to draw Yusuf into teaching him Arabic. 

Yusuf had seen the destruction Nicolò’s people had wrought in Jerusalem, and he’d laid it all at Nicolò’s feet. But he was just a man. One single man. Who did as he’d been taught, but whose actions spoke of his regret and desire to make things right. To help people. To make their world, as violent and senseless as it was, just a little better. 

Now it was Yusuf who would need to make things right. To beg forgiveness. For his cruelty all those months ago, for enjoying the pleasures of Nicolò’s body with no regard for the consequences. 

The thought of Nicolò laboring to bring their child into this world in a wretched cabin in the woods made him want to ride without stopping until he found them. To hold his hand through the pain, to let him know he need never be alone again. That every hurt they’d ever caused each other could be nothing but dust, easily swept away and scattered on the winds.

But he knew he’d never make it to Nicolò in time. It was at least a week’s ride to where they’d parted, and who knows how far Nicolò had ridden before his condition prevented it? Sure, Andromache and Quynh might dream of him, but he was rightly in hiding. With no identifying town or cities or shared languages to give any clue to where he might be. The more he thought on it, the deeper his despair grew. The best he could wish for now would be to find him safely delivered of the child, hopefully not too many months from now. 

He rode like a man possessed that first day, urging the women to ride through the night until they rightly pointed out that if they didn’t sleep, there was no chance for them to dream. He made camp quickly and practically demanded the women head straight to sleep. He would keep watch all night. He couldn’t sleep in this state any way, and they needed it much more than he did. 

After making Yusuf set up far across the fire from them (“we’ll never get to sleep if you’re breathing down our necks, thinking that if you stare hard enough, you might see him too,”) Yusuf spent the long night in prayer. If he couldn’t be there for Nicolò, let God watch over him until he got there. 

Just as the eastern horizon was smudging from black to grey, Quynh and Andromache woke up. He resisted every instinct that told him to shake them the second he saw them begin to wake and demand he tell them everything they knew. 

Andromache must have taken pity on him at seeing the stricken look on his face because she didn’t make it wait, even though he deserved it. 

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.” 

He tried to choke out a thank you, to ask after Nicolò, to ask after her, but he couldn’t make a sound. You could have knocked him over with a blade of grass. 

Somewhere in the vast stretch of land north of them, Nicolò had done it. He’d given him this gift, this unimaginable blessing. Even if he never met her, knowing she existed would have to be enough to nourish him. That her father had her, that he was no longer alone. 

“She has your hair. His eyes. I think she’s got that nose of his, but it’s too early to tell.” Andromache elaborated. It could have been a second or an hour later. He wouldn’t have known the difference. 

“How are they?” he managed to gasp out. 

“We couldn’t see much, but she seemed well. Healthy. Strong for a baby so small. Nicolò was feeding her.”

“And he... is he all right?”

“He looked to have healed of course, but he’s still alone. Still too thin. Still scared. Not for himself, but for her. He doesn’t know how to protect her. I could feel his fear.” Quynh chimed in. 

“Did you see anything else? Where they are? Anything at all?”

Andromache and Quynh looked at him sadly. “Nothing, I’m sorry.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. That they wouldn’t simply dream of him looking at a street sign and instantly know how to find him. Their daughter was still so small, so fragile. It might be weeks before he could travel safely, and even then they might not recognize where he was. 

“Yusuf, I must ask you this now before we go on. I hope I know what you’ll say, but I need to hear you say it. What do you intend to do when we find them?”

“I intend to be with them. To watch over them. To give them everything I’ve deprived them of thus far. To ensure they never feel the sting of loneliness or the bite of hunger ever again. To cherish their hearts and protect them with my body if needed. I intend to love them without ceasing.”

“Pretty words. Don’t forget to share with Nicolò when we see him again. He needs to hear it from you, more than once before he believes it I think.”

“And why do you say that, Andromache?”

“He fears you’ll take the child from him. That you’ll be angry at his situation and his struggle. That you’ll find him... unfit.”

If he felt guilty before, it was nothing compared to now. Not only had he left Nicolò to fend for himself, but he’d been so callous that Nicolò was now scared of him. His child’s father. The man he was meant to raise his daughter with. The person he should have trusted before anyone else. 

“He’s already shown himself to be more fit for this than I could ever hope to be. Words come easily to me, but I know I must show him my sincerity. To earn his trust. You two also.”

—

As logistically unprepared as Nicolò had been to be a father, his mental preparation now seemed even more lacking. 

He knew parents loved their children. Or they were supposed to, at least. But nothing could have readied him for her. 

Everything she did fascinated him. He could lose hours of his day just watching her sleep, watching her drink at his chest, watching her keen eyes stare back at him with what looked like more wisdom and understanding than any baby had a right to. 

She was so perfect he couldn’t believe she’d come from him. Every mistake he had made now seemed so small, unimportant. They’d all led him here, to her. Even if Yusuf showed up this minute and took her away, he knew he’d remember every gentle curve of her face, even if he lived another thousand years. The fear of losing her didn’t make him love her any less. Even if he had to watch her grow old when he would not, every second was a gift from God. A gift he wasn’t worthy of, but wasn’t that the nature of God’s grace? 

He did struggle to name her, though. He’d try on different names in his mind, but nothing ever stuck. But he didn’t have to introduce her to anyone yet, so he put that off to another day. 

It had been a few weeks since her birth, and Nicolò had of course healed almost instantly. But he still lingered in his little farmhouse. The chill in the air was not so much that he couldn’t keep her warm; she spent most of the day bundled up and wrapped around him as he went about his chores.

No, it was fear that kept him here. As much as longed for a full belly, to see his muscles return and know that he could now better defend his daughter, he made do what little game he could find. Every day he resolved that tomorrow he would begin to plan their return to the world. That soon they would leave this wretched place behind. But he never did. 

The more he thought on it, the more he despaired. Even if he made it safely to the next town without being set upon by bandits, and it was a miracle he hadn’t seen any these last six months, what would he do when he got there? What work was there for an unwed father? And if he managed to find work, what would he do with her all day? She needed him, constantly. If Nicolò so much as set her down to tend the fire, she’d scream so loud, he wondered if Yusuf could hear it, wherever he was. It was like she knew that they were all the other one had. That they were truly in this alone, and they had to stick together. 

But as time rolled on, Nicolò knew that he had to do something. He couldn’t stay in this place forever. He realized that if he continued to eat so little, his milk would surely dry up. He was fine going hungry, but he couldn’t allow it for her. 

Also, he was tired of spending half his days cleaning the handful of diapers he had, constantly rotating between washing them in the stream, drying them by the fire, and changing her. She took more shits than he thought possible. 

So one day, two months to the day since she’d come into the world, they left the only place she’d called home so far. 

He had an irrational thought as he stepped beyond the boundaries he’d given himself these past months. What if some great cataclysm had taken place, and they two were the only people left on Earth? He’d been alone so long, he couldn’t rule out the possibility. 

But as he returned to the road and began walking, his pack strapped to his back and his daughter to his front, his cloak pulled tightly around them both, he saw that wasn’t the case. Everything looked much the same. There were fresh tracks in the road. Towards the horizon, he could see shepherds tending their flocks. His life has changed beyond recognition, and still the world turned. Totally ignorant of the miracle currently nursing at his chest, milk-drunk and lulled into half-sleep by the sway of her father’s gait. 

The first time he passed a traveler on the road, he was convinced that this was it. He would be kicked down, stripped of his possessions, his daughter slaughtered in front of him, and then he’d be left for dead. But nothing happened. He gave a small nod, received one in return, and the farmer on the other side of the road simply kept walking. After so many months alone, it seemed the strangest thing in the world to see and be seen by another person. 

A few more innocuous encounters, and suddenly he was in the village. He still had a few coins left from selling the horse. How many times did he curse himself for not spending them as he sat clutching his empty belly by the fire, wishing for any morsel that could nourish the child growing in him? Now he thanked God in every way he knew how that he still had enough for a hot meal and at least one night at the only inn in town.

It was a small town, with not so many travelers passing through, especially this time of year, so the ground floor of the inn was empty when he walked in. The warm body against his chest was breathing slowly and rhythmically, and he hoped she’d stay asleep for as long as it took him to ask for a room and for dinner to be brought up to him. No one need know she was there at all. She’d wake up eventually, but he’d do his best to keep her from crying while they were here, even if it meant nursing her all night long. They’d be gone in the morning, to a larger town where he could safely enquire after what some might call women’s work. Working in a laundry, a kitchen, changing sheets in a brothel. He didn’t care as long as they didn’t ask questions and didn’t mind him working with a babe strapped to him. 

“I was wondering if you’d be back.”

Nicolò turned to the source of the voice, coming from the doorway to the kitchen. It took him only a moment to place where he knew her face from. It was from this very inn. He’d seen her the day he’d sold his horse. She’d sold him some soup, and seemed to stare straight through him. She was short, with dark curls streaked with grey, warm brown eyes, and a determined set to her jaw that spoke to her total control of her domain.

Nicolò automatically looked behind him to see if there was someone else she was speaking to. There was no one.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. And your babe. I figured they’d be here by now. You must tell me now; I’ve been dying to know. Boy or girl?”

Nicolò was so stunned that without thinking, he stuttered out, “girl. She’s a girl.” 

“That’s good. A girl deserves a good father. One who will care for her as he should.”

Nicolò couldn’t muster a response beyond a confused wheeze. Who was this woman? Why did she remember the face of a stranger she’d sold soup to almost a year ago? And why was she so certain that he’d been with child then? He’d been so careful, and no one else had spared him a second look.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Of course I knew it then. People only notice what they want to, and you did well keeping yourself unnoticed while you carried her. But I could have smelled you a mile away.”

It’s only now that Nicolò realizes she’s speaking to him in accented, but clear and fluent Genoese. 

“Sit, sit. You must be dead on your feet. And no meat on your bones besides. I’ll fix you a plate, and only once you’ve eaten every bite, I’ll answer your questions.”

Nicolò wa embarrassed by how quickly he devoured the stew and crusty sourdough bread. He’s eating with such vigor that his daughter stirs, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes before rooting around for a nipple, slipping back to sleep as she sucked. 

“My name is Sarai. I’m like your girl there. Born from a father. It’s rare, what you’ve done. Most wouldn’t know what to look for. But I still remember my father carrying my younger brothers. I was ten years old when the youngest was born, but I’ll never forget it. I’m also an omega, so I could just tell. Simple as that. As for the Genoese, he was a merchant. He said all the best sailors came from Genova, so whenever I visited him at the docks, they’d teach me their language.”

“You could tell even then? I hardly knew at that point.”

“Yes, I could tell even then. And I could also smell the fear on you. Could tell that you’re alone, unmated. I knew if I said anything, you’d run out of here before I could get two words out. It would only have drawn attention. I hoped you’d be back. But a few weeks went by, and I knew you were gone. I had hoped to your family or at least a friend, but I suspect that was not the case.”

“No, it was not. There’s an abandoned farmhouse, deep in the woods almost a day’s walk from here. Near a stream. No one had been there for decades. I did what I could. Hunted what I could.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that. A child is a blessing. The joy of it should be shared. The pain, too. We aren’t meant to be alone like that. You should be proud of yourself for making it through. Many would have given up.”

Nicolò immediately thought of just who he had been meant to share this with. He wondered what Yusuf would make of this strange woman. 

He struggled to speak, but just managed it around the lump in his throat. “Thank you. You don’t even know my name, and you’ve been kinder to me than anyone in years. I am Nicolò.”

“You’re most welcome. Now come, you’re exhausted, and so is she. I want to hear the rest and see her beautiful face, but it can wait. Now you must sleep.”

Nicolò allowed himself to be herded up the stairs and pushed down onto a soft mattress in a quiet room. When he tried to offer his coin, she silenced him with only a look. 

“Don’t worry about anything but getting your strength back. You’ll need it come tomorrow. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to get to work.”

“Work?”

“Yes, work. You aren’t staying here for free. You’ll have a bed, meals, and some coin besides for as long as you want it. But I’m not a young woman anymore, and there’s always work to be done around here. So rest up.”

With that, she left him to his thoughts. He could scarcely believe his luck. Of all the small towns along this stretch of land, he’d found what must be the only one with a Genoese speaker. And someone who understood, who cared. For the first time since he realized he was carrying his daughter, he allowed himself to believe that things might be all right.

—

It had been weeks, and nothing had changed. They rode all day, made camp, and went straight to sleep. And every morning, Yusuf roused Andromache and Quynh, interrogating them about their dreams. It was usually only flashes. Some mornings it was nothing at all. But it was always the same: Nicolò hidden at his farmhouse, washing diapers, changing the baby, nursing the baby, eating his own meager rations. Andromache could tell from the dreams that even with some of his mobility back, he still just barely got by. The bags beneath his eyes only got deeper, his cheekbones more pronounced, his ribs more visible when he laid by the fire, dozing with the baby pressed against his bare skin. 

Andromache was hesitant to tell Yusuf about the state of things. She reasoned to herself that the child was safe, healthy, and growing. If harm came to Nicolò, he could heal. They would be fine. 

Quynh had no such reservations. She saw the way Yusuf wrung his hands, the worry that never left his brow, heard him crying Nicolò’s name on the rare occasions he let himself sleep. She was a firm believer in complete candor. After so many centuries, she had no trouble with hard truths.

“He’s thinner every day. Any energy he has goes to feeding the baby. And he’s scared she’s not getting enough. I could see him obsessively testing her weight in his arms, making sure she’s growing.”

Yusuf spent a lot of his time trying not to cry, but this morning he didn’t have the strength. “What if he becomes too weak? Can’t travel? Would anyone ever find them?” Yusuf croaks out.

“We’ll find them. We’ll keep looking. For now, you must trust Nicolò. He’s been so strong, and he won’t give himself over now.” Andromache tried to comfort him.

“I trust Nicolò, of course I do. Of course. I’m just not thinking straight. Did you see anything else?”

“No, nothing. I’m sorry. We’ll keep moving north. I think the trees are starting to look more like what I see around Nicolò.”

It wasn’t much to hang onto, but Yusuf took this information like a lifeline. It was all he had, so it would have to be enough for now.

—

The next morning, after the first round of chores around the inn, Nicolò sat with Sarai for a cup of hot tea and some buttered bread in the kitchen, away from the guests who’d trickled down the stairs. He thought it the best breakfast he’d had in his whole life. 

As he sat and ate, he finally managed to hand his daughter over to her. She’d never been so much as touched by another human being, and to put her into the arms of a stranger after so many weeks felt like handing over his own heart. 

Sarai cooed at her and made silly faces. The baby was wary and cried at first, but slowly became entranced by the new face in front of her. In a few minutes, she was giggling softly and grabbing Sarai’s nose in her surprisingly strong grip.

Sarai looked up at him, and he knew it was time to tell her the whole sordid tale. He left out the “can’t seem to die” part, but kept the rest true. He’d left Jerusalem with a man named Yusuf after they’d realized the futility of what they were doing there. Nicolò could kill no more innocents, and Yusuf knew the city could not be saved. So they set out together with an uneasy truce between them. He told her of his infrequent heats, made even more so by living rough for so many years. Their one shared night, followed by the lonely morning after. And the even more lonely months that followed. 

Sarai was both spitting mad and earnestly sad by the end of it. She told him again how much she admired his strength, how he’d kept his daughter alive through sheer force of will. How she wished he hadn’t had to go through it. And how she wanted to cut Yusuf’s cock off. 

“Please don’t, Sarai. He didn’t know. There’s no way he could have known.”

“So he laid with an omega during his heat, came inside him all night long, and spared not a second thought to the consequences? If not malicious, it’s at least willfully ignorant.”

“I was already a burden to him. He had been tied to me through no fault of his own. And now I’ve gone and tied us together even further.”

“Tell me Nicolò, do you think of your daughter as a burden?”

“No! I could never.”

“Then don’t speak like this. She is a gift. One that Yusuf would be lucky to share in.”

Nicolò bit his lip and hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t speak it. It would only make Sarai hate Yusuf even more. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “but what if he doesn’t want to share?”

“Then you’ll carry on as you have proven yourself more than capable of. You’ll feed your daughter, keep her safe and happy, and she’ll never want for the love of a father.”

“No, not like that, but thank you. What if.. what if he tries to take her from me? I’m here alone, penniless, with a toddler’s grasp of the native language. Yusuf comes from a wealthy family in Tunis. What if he takes one look at me and sees how I’ve struggled to care for her? She’ll be lost to me forever.”

“This won’t happen because I won’t let it. Do you hear me? As long as you need it, you’ll be safe here.” 

He did his best to set his fear aside and tried to believe her. Eventually the conversation turned to a somewhat lighter topic: names.

“She must have a name. My daughter and granddaughters live here in town, and they would never forgive me for keeping such a precious gem from them. But they must have something to call her besides bambina.”

Truthfully, Nicolò had been scared to name the baby. What if Yusuf showed up the very next day, laughed at his selection, and took her from him? But he could no longer be trapped by his fear. Sarai had promised to help him, and he wanted to believe it. Naming his daughter seemed a good place to start.  
He thought of all the dirty, wrong things he’d done in his life. How she had come into the world, shining and perfect and new. Perfectly made with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. She was pure of all his sin, and it made him believe if he loved her well enough, a clean slate was possible for him as well.

“Caterina. She will be Caterina. It means pure. I think.. I think it suits her.”

“A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. What do you think, Caterina?”

As though her ears burned and she heard herself being discussed, she woke up from where she’d fallen asleep in Sarai’s arms and began to huff softly. Nicolò could tell she was hungry, and would begin to cry soon if he didn’t feed her. His body was already responding, milk letting down. He reached over and brought her to chest, and she latched instantly. For all the stress he’d had over food in the last few months, Caterina shared none of it. She drank her fill, often and vigorously. 

“I’m not hearing any objections.” Nicolò laughed for what felt like the first time in years.

—

If Yusuf had to guess, it had been at least three months since Andromache and Quynh had found him and told him what pain he’d wrought. What’s worse, their dreams of him had slowed to a trickle. No one could explain why. They saw only flashes of chubby legs and toes, downy soft skin slowly darkening to a deeper shade of olive as she grew, strong fingers reaching up to grab at Nicolò, his eyes meeting hers with naked adoration in them. That was all. Nothing to tell them if Nicolò was still at the farm, if he was well. They could tell the baby was growing, but nothing more.

Yusuf was about to crawl out of his skin. He wrung his hands, tugged at his hair, picked at his nails ceaselessly. He had more nervous energy than ever in his life, and nowhere to put it. No one to soothe him, and no one for him to soothe in return. 

Kinship and trust began to develop with Andromache and Quynh as they saw how he tortured himself. They were with each other all day, every day, and no one was that good of an actor for his distress to have been put on. They sought to reassure him, to throw a comforting arm around him as they sat by the fire. He shrugged them off every time. He felt greedy and undeserving of their affections, knowing that somewhere out there, Nicolò went without any human kindness. 

Things went on much the same way for a while until a few weeks later, after searching for signs of life and shouting Nicolò’s name in every abandoned hut or cave they passed, Quynh gasped awake in the middle of the night. For once Yusuf had dozed off by the fire, but he was fully awake at once.

“What did you see?”

It was Andromache who answered, slower to wake and rubbing sleep from her eyes still.

“He’s left the farmhouse. He was at an inn. Small, modest, but well-cared for. He hung sheets out to dry on a line in the courtyard. There were cypress trees around him. She was strapped to his chest. He spoke to her while he worked, but I couldn’t make out what he said. She babbled back at him.”

Yusuf felt himself sag with relief. They were okay. She was okay. She was growing, safe, and healthy. And he wasn’t there to see any of it. He only had glimpses, not even his own, to go off. Soon she might say her first word. Would be able to call out for her Papa with more than just her cries. Would he ever know the sound of her voice? He could imagine her eyes because the women said they were the very same as Nicolò’s, set into her small face. Yusuf tried to picture the scene Andromache described, but Nicolò only leaned in and spoke to a faceless blur.

Quynh must have seen where his thoughts were headed because she gently reminded him, “it’s the most we’ve seen in weeks. This is good news.”

“I know it is. I do. And I thank you for telling me. I hope every day that we get closer to them, but I still feel as far away as ever.”

Andromache and Quynh had nothing to say to that. It was an impossible situation, unlike anything any person had dealt with before. They knew Yusuf wouldn’t rest again tonight, and so they quietly broke camp, saddled their horses, and rode into the dark. 

—

Nicolò startled awake at dawn. It had been over a year since he dreamed of the women. Before Caterina. But here they were, back as if they’d never left his dreams. Maybe now that he wasn’t filled with terror for most of his waking (and dreaming) hours, his mind was finally letting him focus on other things. Like the two women whose names he still didn’t know, riding next to each other and glancing up the road to a figure Nicolò would have known anywhere. 

He’d watched Yusuf sit astride his horse for years. His powerful legs gripping the animal. His perfect posture, the proud set of his shoulders that spoke to years of training and practice. The women had found him.

What’s worse, Nicolò knew that road. Could recognize its gentle rise and fall, see the peaks and valley off to the right, the sea shining in the distance to the left.

Nicolò knew that they couldn’t have been more than a few miles away the turnoff to his farmhouse. And when he thought of the view ahead of them, he knew they were heading his way. They might even reach the town today.

Sunlight was just beginning to stream in through his window. It was still early, but the inn would rise soon. He could be on the road in the opposite direction before anyone realized. When Yusuf and the women arrived, he could be long gone. 

He crossed the room and leaned over Caterina’s crib. She slumbered peacefully, swaddled in a warm blanket. Her curls fought to escape the wool cap Sarai’s daughter, Miriam, had knit for her. He spared a moment to think of the peaceful months he and Caterina had spent here with Sarai. 

It seemed like something out of a dream. Rising early for a hearty breakfast. Spending his days peeling vegetables, tidying the rooms, putting the sheets out to dry. Sitting around the hearth in the evenings, watching Sarai, Miriam, and her daughters coo over Caterina and argue over which part of her was cutest (Nicolò was partial to the curls). All with Caterina strapped to him, watching her grow stronger day by day and singing to her the sweet little songs Miriam’s daughters had taught him. It was thanks to those girls that his Arabic grew stronger, too.

He would remember all of this fondly, but if it came to staying here with them or keeping Caterina safe, it was no choice at all.

He crept out down the stairs, and of course it couldn’t have been so simple to slip away. Sarai emerged from the kitchen just as he reached crossed into the main room.

“And just where do you think you’re going at this hour? With your traveling cloak on and your bags all packed?”

“Sarai, it’s not what it seems. I’d explain if I could, but I don’t know how. I would never want to leave without saying goodbye to you and the girls.”

“The best place to start is usually at the beginning. What happened that make you think you need to leave?”

The beginning was almost ten years ago on a bloody field outside Jerusalem and a newfound inability to die, so he didn’t think he could start there, but he did his best.

“I.. I have these dreams. They aren’t like normal dreams. They’re of places I’ve never been, two women I’ve never seen. And I can’t explain how, but I know they’re real. And I saw them last night. Coming here, with Yusuf. If my memory of the road serves, they’ll be here today.”

Ever a practical woman, Nicolò expected Sarai to laugh so loud that it would wake Caterina. But she did no such thing. She squinted her eyes, put her hands on her hips, and looked at Nicolò with fiery determination in her eyes. “Well that just won’t do, will it now. Come on, I told you I would keep you and Caterina safe, and I mean to keep my promise.”

Before Nicolò could offer so much as a thank you, he was being led back into the kitchen. Sarai shoved aside some of the layer of straw that covered the kitchen floor out of the way. There at his feet, Sarai was opening a cellar door he’d never noticed before, the seam of it barely noticeable in the weathered wooden floor.

“Down you go. It’s not much, but it’s safe and hard enough to find. Don’t open the door for anyone. Stay in the shadows. If anyone comes asking after you, I’ve never met a Genoan in my life.” Before he could say thank you or ask how she meant to protect herself if things turned violent, the door slammed shut. 

Nicolò sat down on the cot pressed against the far wall of the cellar, the thin shafts of sunlight coming through the cracks in the floor above enough to let him navigate the room once his eyes adjusted. He could hear the kitchen stirring above him.

Caterina finally stirred against his chest. She was always ready to eat the moment she woke up, and was pleased to find herself already pressed against her father. Nicolò adjusted her position slightly, and in moments she had latched on and was noisily enjoying her breakfast. 

Nicolò looked down at her, bigger and healthier than he could have imagined her being when she’d come into the world just a few months ago. Nicolò was still thin; he couldn’t seem to put on much weight with so much of his energy going straight through him to Caterina, but he felt healthy again. It had been weeks since hungered gnawed at him. 

He thought of how far they’d come. How far they would still go. He wasn’t ready to lose her. He didn’t think he would ever be ready. He pressed his lips to her springy black curls and prayed they’d be safe here. That even if Yusuf came for them, he’d understand how hard Nicolò had tried. How fiercely he loved their daughter. The sun rose higher in the sky, and still Nicolò prayed.

—

The day dawned clear and bright. It had been a few weeks since they’d first glimpsed Nicolò at the inn, and they’d seen more flashes of him around the same place, doing chores and taking care of the baby. This firm bit of evidence that he was alive and well and seemingly still in this part of the world spurred them on. They rose earlier, rode later, and left no stone unturned. Andromache and Quynh had looked into every inn they’d passed and skulked around only long enough to determine this wasn’t the one they’d seen.

Yusuf refused to give up. Every day his daughter was in the world without him was a travesty to him. He was a man possessed. He knew they couldn’t keep this pace forever, but every time he thought of slowing down, of giving Andromache and Quynh a moment to themselves to rest and recuperate, he thought of the faceless blur in Nicolò’s arms. How he didn’t know the face of his own child. He spurred his horse forward again. 

Just after noon, they rode into a small town. He could see cypress trees around, but those were common enough. He wouldn’t get his hopes up too much. He’d made that mistake the first few times they’d seen an inn that vaguely matched Andromache and Quynh’s descriptions. 

The town was small enough that after asking around, they learned there was only one inn. They could stop for lunch, poke around a little bit, and be back on the road and in the next village by sundown, and do the same all over again. 

They stopped in front of the inn, tied up their horses, and went inside. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious, and Yusuf thought that even if this probably wasn’t the place, they’d have a decent meal before moving on.

As he looked towards the kitchen, he saw a small woman standing in the doorway with the most intense, determined gaze he’d ever seen. She seemed to look straight through him before she turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen. 

“It looks right, but we won’t know until we see the courtyard.” Quynh whispered to Andromache, low enough that he could tell they hadn’t meant for him to hear. They too knew how dangerous hope could be. 

A younger woman brought them some hearty, fragrant stew and crusty bread with butter. As soon as they dug in, Quynh skulked away from the table. If Quynh didn’t want you to see her, you simply wouldn’t. She knew without being asked to go search for the courtyard.

A few tense minutes passed as he and Andromache tried to act normal and make small talk. Finally Quynh returned to the table with an expression on her face that was half hope, half fear. “He was here. It’s the same courtyard, I know it.”

“Did you look for him?” Yusuf could barely speak, overcome with the knowledge that Nicolò had at one point, been in this very room.

“I snuck into the kitchen and the hallway upstairs, but it was just a glimpse. Nothing.”

“He might not be here any longer. We can’t let this lead slip through our fingers. We need to ask.” Andromache responded.

“They won’t tell us anything.” Yusuf countered. “What can we do?”

“The worst thing they can do is turn us out. It’s not like they can kill us.” Quynh said with her usual practicality.

They finished their meals and walked to the bar with forced casualness in their gaits. Andromache was the first to speak up when the younger woman who’d served them earlier approached. “We’re looking for a dear friend of ours. We became separated during traveling some time ago, and we think he may have come this way. He’s not from this area; he’s European. He wouldn’t have known much Arabic. He has a baby girl with him, less than a year old.” 

Before she could school her reaction, there was a flash of recognition in the woman’s eyes. If they needed any more confirmation that he’d been here, they had it.

She started to open her mouth, but the older woman called out from behind her, “Let me handle this, Miriam.” She strode up the bar and looked right at Yusuf, even though it was Andromache who’d done all the talking so far.

“He sounds like quite the man. I’m sure I’d remember having met someone like that. But no, there’s been no one. I suggest you keep looking elsewhere.”

He felt pinned down by her gaze. He knew she meant that to be the end of the conversation, but he couldn’t give up that easily. It wasn’t in his nature, especially when it came to this. 

“Please, I know he came this way. We… we parted badly. There was a… misunderstanding. I need to find him. Please.”

“I fail to see how your misunderstanding is my problem.”

“He believes that I mean to do him harm. But I would never. Could never. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best. For him and the girl. Please, you must believe me.”

“And just why do you think you know what’s best for them?”

Yusuf could tell she knew more than she was saying. She tried to play off the whole encounter casually, as if she was merely annoyed to have three strangers in her inn, asking her even stranger questions. But he could see there was more to it.

“I.. that’s not what I meant. I just mean that if I could explain myself, he might see them I never wished him ill. That I never meant to cause such harm. That I mean to make it up to them. To him and the child. That I wish to make it right, with everything that I am. That I’ll do anything for the chance watch over and protect them. To give them everything they’ve been deprived of so far, all due to my selfishness.”

“A nice speech. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know the man.”

Yusuf could feel his desperation mounting. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I know I gave him reason to fear me. To think I meant the worst. That I mean to separate him from the child. I can’t even think of doing so. He has given her everything, and I nothing.” He knew he was pouring his heart out, rambling to this unfeeling stranger, but he was powerless to stop himself.

“From the moment I knew of her, knew what we’d created together, I looked back in anger, but only ever at myself. Not at any choice he’d made. I’d given him an impossible burden, stranded him with nothing and no one. He struggled alone, kept her safe alone. He should never have had to, and yet he did it so well. I should have been there with him, and I wasn’t. I know why he might hate me; he’s perfectly right to. But I could just explain what went wrong, he might understand. If not for my feelings and to assuage my guilt, which I doubt I will ever rid myself of, but because he should know that he doesn’t need to be alone. Please.”

He was met only with stony silence. He could take it no longer. He shoved past her into the kitchen and its store rooms and searched frantically through its many nooks and crannies, shouting in Genoese all the while.

“Nicolò! Please! If you’re here, please listen. I’ve been horrible to you, not just in this, but for years. You sought peace, to bring goodness and happiness into the world, to ease both your loneliness and mine, and I only ever rebuffed you. I was so cold, so blinded.”

The old woman charged him and made to push him out of her kitchen, but Andromache and Quynh stood firm in front of her.

“To think of how kind you were to me, for years as I turned away from you, and that this is how I repay you for giving me your body and your heart so freely. There would be nothing to forgive if you never saw me again, never let me see her, never even spoke my name to her. But I cannot stand to think of you, alone and scared, living in fear of me for the rest of our days. If anything were able to kill me, it would be that.”

At that, he started to collapse in on himself, but Andromache caught him before he hit the ground. The only sounds in the whole place were his muffled sobs and the sound of Andromache’s hand rubbing over the back of rough tunic, trying and failing to soothe him. 

And then suddenly, from below, quiet footsteps. A single piercing cry. The grinding of a metal hinge and the rustling of straw as a trapdoor suddenly opened, not ten feet from where Yusuf stood.

A familiar mop of hair arose and turned up to look at him. Nicolò gave a small smile and simply said in Arabic, “You learned Genoese.”

—

After a few hours beneath the kitchen, eavesdropping on the conversations he could hear between Sarai, Miriam, and the customers who came to the bar had become boring. Caterina felt it, too. At this time of day, she’d usually be bouncing along with him as he went up and down the stairs, cleaning up after the guests who’d been on their way after breakfast. A quiet morning in a stale cellar was a poor substitute in a baby’s mind.

He kept her calm the easiest, quietest way he knew how, offering her his breast and letting her feed intermittently for hours. She’d drink, fall asleep, wake back up, and keep mouthing at his breast, even when she wasn’t actually feeding. It was so quiet that he was almost able to forget why they were down here.

Almost. He and Caterina had both dozed off for couldn’t have been more than a few minutes when he heard snatches from above him of strangely accented Arabic: “wouldn’t have known much Arabic. He has a baby girl with him, less than a year old.” Ice cold fear trickled down his spine. Caterina must have known it, too, because she chose that moment to wake up and start fussing. He popped a nipple back in her mouth before it got much louder, and sent up a prayer when she settled down quickly. 

The talking continued upstairs. Sarai, bless her, was adamant that she didn’t know anyone who fit that description. 

And then, a voice he hadn’t heard in over a year. That he had both hoped and dreaded to hear again. Sarai and Yusuf argued back and forth, Yusuf insisting there had been a misunderstanding, that he meant to correct it. Sarai challenging him, asking how he could was so sure he knew what was best. Yusuf countering with… something Nicolò had not expected. In his nightmares, Yusuf yanked Caterina away from him, and they were parted forever. On days he let himself dream of a happier future, Yusuf understood that he’d done the best he could, but he’d only ever known Yusuf as an aloof traveling companion, one who’d taken pity on him in his hour of need and saw him through his heat. If he cared so little for Nicolò, how much could have cared for the child he’d made with him? He couldn’t have seen this coming.

He felt himself tearing up as he heard Yusuf explain himself to Sarai. How bitterly he regretted his own choices, how he wished only for Nicolò to know that he didn’t need to be alone anymore. How he wished to give this child he’d never even met everything he’d accidentally deprived her of. 

Nicolò was moved, but Sarai was not. Even without seeing what has happening above him, he could feel the heaviness of the air, the tense silence that stretched on for what felt like hours but was probably no more than a few seconds.

Frantic footsteps rushed into the kitchen, scurrying back and forth, walking directly over his head more than once. Yusuf shouted desperately, in Genoese of all things. How and why had he done that? He’d made his disdain for the language clear.

But as he continued on, it wasn’t disdain Nicolò heard. It was pain, regret, a wish to tell Nicolò that even if Caterina was kept from him, there would be nothing to forgive, nothing to fear.

He’d lived in fear for so long, he didn’t know how to give it up. If he wasn’t scared of losing his daughter through his own weakness, he was scared of losing her to Yusuf. To any one of the million things that could happen that he had no control over.

But as he heard Yusuf break down into tears, he knew then that he was free of it. That if he wanted good things in their lives, he couldn’t let this fear hold him back. Maybe he and Yusuf would part badly. Maybe they wouldn’t. But his fear would stop him from ever finding out. It was the simplest thing in the world to walk to the trap door, hushing Caterina along the way, and step up into the light. 

The look of shock on Yusuf’s face would be hard to forget. He thought it might be at the revelation that Nicolò now spoke Arabic, thanks to Sarai’s family’s diligence. But Nicolò doubted Yusuf heard a word he said, much less noticed what language he spoke it in.

His eyes were locked on the bundle at Nicolò’s chest. 

—

Some part of Yusuf wanted to believe that the baby turning her head and staring straight at him was because she knew he was her father. It could have been in response to any number of stimuli; who knew how her little mind worked. But it felt good to believe the former.

She wasn’t a faceless blur any longer. She was fully real, fully perfect. A riotous mop of dark curls, flopping over the delicate olive skin of her face. The long, full lashes surrounding her blue-green eyes, a shade so unique he’d only seen it once before. He couldn’t decide which color they really were, but he could spend years studying them and trying to make up his mind. The nose he was now sure she had gotten it from Nicolò. Her pink, bell-shaped mouth. The chubby fists that clenched and relaxed as she squirmed in Nicolò’s arms, suddenly shy and hiding her face in the folds of his clothes.

“This is Caterina. Your daughter.”

It suited her perfectly. He was sad he hadn’t been there to help pick it, but he couldn’t have done any better. 

Yusuf took an unconscious step forward and reached out to her. “She’s-“

“I think it best this not happen in the kitchen. In the middle of trying to serve lunch.” Yusuf snapped back to reality with the sound of the old woman’s voice. 

“Of course, Sarai. Yusuf, do you…” Nicolò trailed off and nodded his head towards the door to the courtyard.

Yusuf nodded instantly and enthusiastically. He would have followed Nicolò to the surface of the sun if that’s where he wanted to have this conversation. 

He trailed behind Nicolò as the rest of the servants, Andromache, and Quynh made themselves scarce. It was just him, Nicolò, and Caterina who stepped into the yard and sat the simple wooden chairs and table underneath one of the cypress trees.

Nicolò broke the silence. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep. I only mean, she’s your daughter.”

“And she’s yours too.”

Yusuf could think of nothing to say to that. He simply held out his arms and let Nicolò gently place Caterina down.

She stared back up at him with such curiosity and openness, shyness gone entirely. He thought she saw him more clearly than anyone had before. That he hadn’t known who he was, what he wanted, what his purpose was, until he saw it reflected back at him in her eyes. 

“She’s hardly ever like this with new people. It was just us two for so long, and she spends so much time in the chest wrap still, that sometimes I don’t think she’s quite grasped that she’s on the outside yet.”

There’s no bitterness in Nicolò’s tone, but the casual way he speaks of how Caterina came into the world, how she’s had no one but Nicolò, cuts him to the core. He bites his tongue and tries to keep his chest from shaking, but the tears slip out all the same.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I could spend the next thousand years trying, and I’d never get the words right. It makes me sick to think what my selfishness, my carelessness wrought for you, for our child.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left-“

“Please don’t try to spare my feelings. I knew perfectly well was I was doing. I was abandoning a good man, a kind man, who only wanted to share his kindness with the world, to a miserable fate. Even without her, you were still alone. There was no one you trusted, who might trust you in return. You didn’t even speak the language, not for lack of trying. I refused to give you even that. And to lay with you and run off while the evidence of it was still heavy on the air, not giving a second thought to your heat, how we’d coupled for hours…”

“I had been a burden to you for so long. After that night, it would only have gotten worse. The result was unfortunate, but I know why you did it.” 

“It was more than unfortunate. It was unforgivable. What I did to the both of you.”

At this Yusuf’s eyes lingered on Nicolò’s pronounced collarbone, his more pronounced cheekbones, the circles under his eyes deeper than he’d ever seen on him. He shifted Caterina to one arm and reached out without thinking to trace these new contours of Nicolò’s face, but stopped himself before he could make contact.

“I don’t deserve your kindness. No one in this world does.”

“She does.”

“Yes, she deserves it all, and more. Thank you for giving it to her when I wasn’t there to.”

“Thank you for giving her to me.” 

“Hush. One night of passion, compared with months of devotion. I’ll spend years making up for it, but it could never be enough.”

“It’s enough for me to have you here. To know Caterina is safe. To have one less thing to fear.”

At the mention of fear, Yusuf’s thoughts return to the misunderstanding led to Nicolò hiding in a cellar while Yusuf raved above him.

“Tell me, Nicolò. I need to know so I never repeat it again. I know I’d been so cruel to you, you believed that I meant to take her from you. After all you did for her. After all you sacrificed. When you’re her everything, and I less than nothing. Only a source of pain. What could I have done to stop you from thinking that?”

Nicolò took a gulp of air and paused before he began. “I look back on those days, and it’s like seeing everything through a dark haze. I could think of nothing but how scared I was. That there were a million ways her story could end, most of them awful. It seemed the whole world was against me. This is your place, your people. Not mine. And when I thought of how distant you’d been and how much you resisted teaching me Arabic, it was a reminder that I didn’t belong, and I never would. But she could. She could belong here, with you. But not with me.” 

Nicolò wiped away a stray tear as he tore his gaze from Yusuf down to the girl asleep in his arms. Yusuf could do nothing but press Caterina back to into Nicolò. He deserved to feel her comforting weight in his arms after such a painful admission.

“Her people is you. Her place is wherever you are.” Yusuf finally managed to say.

“And what of you?”

“What about me?”

“Where is your place, Yusuf?”

“I know I have no right to take up space in her life. To hold her this once and know that you did not fear crossing my path again could be enough. Would have to be enough. If that’s what you want.”

“No, that’s not what I want. She’s a blessing, and she should be shared. For all our sakes.”

At this, Yusuf can’t stop himself from scooting his chair so he’s pressed against Nicolò’s side and looking down in wonder at what they’d made together.

—

They spent hours there beneath the cypress trees. Nicolò sharing stories of Caterina’s early days, how she’d been determined to live from her first breath, no matter the circumstances of it. Of the happier days since, spent here at the inn. Any tale Yusuf could share of his time at the docks, even if he’d learned Genoese in those months, was a waste of breath to him. He hung on Nicolò’s every word.

After a few hours of being happily passed between them, bouncing on their knees and grabbing at their noses, Caterina became restless and instinctively reached for Nicolò. Before she could get a single cry out, Nicolò was already plucking her from Yusuf’s knee, pulling his tunic aside, and bringing her to his chest. 

It amazed Yusuf to see Nicolò feed their child. The total peace on both their faces. Caterina from getting everything she needed, Nicolò with the pleasure of giving it to her. 

“Nicolò, we must speak of your health at some point.” It may have been too soon for Yusuf to bring it up, but he couldn’t stand to see Nicolò this way. He looked better than Quynh had described to him, but still thinner than when they’d parted ways.

“I’m on the mend, truly. I don’t say this to make you feel guilty, but I’m really feeling much better. It’s just so hard to put on weight when everything I eat goes straight through to her. And she needs them more than I do.”

“There’s plenty to go around.”

“And should I repay Sarai’s kindness by eating her out of house and home, sitting and growing fat and lazy all day?” Nicolò clearly meant it as a joke, but it wasn’t to Yusuf.

“I’d love nothing more than to see you fat and lazy.”

Nicolò did laugh at this, softly so he didn’t disturb Caterina’s dinner. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of this plan a year from now, when Caterina and I have both tripled in size.”

The thought of seeing them both grow fat and happy before him made Yusuf’s chest swell with longing. He thought of the coin he has stashed in his bag. How it could be enough to let a quiet piece of land, a little house for them. They could work the land, growing more than enough to feed themselves and Caterina both.

“I will let you know what I think next year.” A healthy pink blush comes across Nicolò’s cheeks; he hope Nicolò is just as charmed by the idea of a future together as Yusuf is. 

They fall back into comfortable silence as the sun dips behind the trees. As the dinner hour approaches, the women inside must have decided that had given them enough privacy. 

Sarai strode into the courtyard from the kitchen, Andromache and Quynh close behind. “Come inside now, dinner is ready. And you and I are in need of proper introductions, Yusuf. I’ve already met these two ladies here and gotten to thank them for all the grief they’ve given you these past few months.”

Yusuf ducks his head bashfully at Sarai’s words. There’s much less harsh than what he deserves, but all he can say is, “Thank you. For taking care of them when I didn’t. For seeing in him the kindness that I’d been blind to.”

“Yes, he certainly is kind. I can see that Nicolò has forgiven you. I’ll try to do the same, but actions speak louder than words.”

“I know they do. And I intend to show him, and you, that I mean them.”

“We’ll see, won’t we.”

—

That first night at the inn, they shared a dinner full of laughter as Andromache and Quynh regaled them all with more and more fantastical tales. Finally he had chance to appreciate the wild lives they’d lived without fear for Nicolò and the baby hanging over him. Both the women had immediately taken to Nicolò, declaring that they had no use for most babies, but he’d managed to make the cutest, sweetest one they’d seen in a long time. 

Caterina dozed heavily in Nicolò’s arms as they talked. Eventually he too let out a yawn, and that was their clue to wrap it up. It had been an absurdly long day for all involved.

After saying their goodnights, Quynh and Andromache went off to their own room, and Sarai to hers. Yusuf lingered awkwardly with Nicolò in the hallway. He’d stowed his things in his own small room earlier, but now walking in and shutting the door behind him seemed impossible. But he managed it, wishing Nicolò a good night’s rest and dropping a kiss onto Caterina’s curls. He wanted nothing more than to follow Nicolò to his room, to watch as he lovingly put their child to bed, to curl around him and breathe him in. Wake up to his whole world in the room, safely in his grasp. But after Nicolò being on his own for so long, he didn’t want to push him. 

He tossed and turned endlessly. He understood what Nicolò meant when he spoke of the million things that could go wrong, even the safety of a quiet inn. A beam falling on her. A spider crawling into her crib. Brigands in the night. Human life had never seemed so fragile and precious. 

After more than an hour of this, he can’t take it any more. He won’t get any sleep tonight, so he may as well be useful. 

Quiet as can be, he eases his door open and goes to sit by Nicolò’s door, back against the door frame and his pressed to the wood. Nothing stirred inside. 

Knowing they were safe calmed his racing thoughts, and despite the hard wood he leaned against, he slowly drifted to sleep.

—

Like clockwork, Caterina woke up a few hours after midnight, restless and ready to be fed. She let out a few loud cries, but when Nicolò began feeding her all was quiet again.

Except for a soft thump, followed by a muffled curse, right outside his door.

Nicolò was instantly on high alert, but he relaxed a second later when he heard Yusuf whisper “Nicolò? Is everything all right?”

He breathed a sigh of relief and swung the door open to see Yusuf rising from the ground and rubbing a quickly fading goose egg on the side of his forehead. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I heard her crying. Are you both okay?”

Nicolò gestured down to where Caterina was quietly nursing, oblivious to any commotion. Yusuf looked at her with tenderness and relief.

“Yes, yes. We’re fine. She wakes up every night around this time.”

“Oh, of course. I should have known. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Yusuf made no move to leave, though. He simply stared at the baby. Nicolò took pity on him and gestured for him to come in. Yusuf followed and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring around the little room they called home.

“She’ll feed for another half hour at least. Come sit.”

Nicolò made himself comfortable propped up among the pillows. Yusuf sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. But after a few minutes of easy silence, Caterina’s drinking the only sound in the room, he relaxed enough to come sit next to Nicolò, unable to resist peering down at her.

“Why were you asleep in the hallway?” Nicolò broke the silence first.

“I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep at all honestly. How have you managed to sleep a wink since she was born? How do you not just stare at her all night, counting her breaths?” Yusuf asked.

“Spend a full day carrying her around strapped to you, and your mind will be too tired for any of that.”

“I’d like to. Spend a day with her like that, I mean.”

“She only lets Sarai carry her sometimes. But with how she’s taken to you, I’m sure she’d love it.”

Yusuf smiled sweetly and they fell back into comfortable silence. Nicolò could see Yusuf’s eyelids starting to droop. Felt the heat emanating from him as he listed over towards Nicolò. The stress of the day must have finally caught up to him because within minutes he’d slumped down the headboard until he was fully laid out on the bed, snoring softly. 

Caterina had fallen back asleep too, and her breaths seemed to harmonize with Yusuf’s. Nicolò slipped into sleep surrounded by the warm weights pressed against his chest and his side. 

—

Yusuf slept so deeply and so comfortably that every bit of him fought returning to consciousness. But awareness slowly returned.

He knew he’d nodded off in Nicolò’s room, but he hadn’t expected to sleep the whole night there. It had been months since he’d slept for this long without waking in a cold sweat, his nightmares fading not fast enough. 

He was on his side, pressed against Nicolò, who laid on his back with Caterina on his chest. Nicolò looked younger, more peaceful than Yusuf had ever seen him. Caterina slept facing towards Yusuf, her mouth slightly open and huffing out rhythmic breaths. Sometime in the night, Yusuf’s hand had come to rest on her back. He could cover her almost from her bottom to her neck with just one hand. 

Nicolò had always been the lighter sleeper, so it wasn’t a surprise when Yusuf glanced up at him and found him smiling back. 

“Sleep well, Yusuf?” Nicolò asked quietly, careful not to wake Caterina.

“Yes, better than I have in years. Maybe ever. Knowing that you’re with me, that she’s here with us. Like it should have been like this, always.”

“I’m glad you’re with her now.”

“I’m not here just for her, though.” At this, Yusuf pressed himself further into Nicolò. In the early morning light, Nicolò’s soft gaze on him, their daughter between them, all thoughts giving him space evaporated. If he didn’t tell Nicolò how he felt now, he might burst. 

“Nicolò, I know the last day has been consumed with her. Of course. You are everything to her, and I hope to join you there in her heart. But I didn’t return out of just paternal instinct. I couldn’t live with myself if you thought she was the only thing holding us together. That if not for her, you and I might return to how things had been before. I couldn’t live with you not knowing much I love you.”

There was a long pause as Yusuf watched Nicolò’s eyes fill with tears. “You can’t know how much it means to hear you say that.” He brought a hand up to Yusuf’s neck, wrapped in the curls there, and pulled Yusuf’s lip down to meet his own.

It was what their first kiss should have been. Sweet, gentle, achingly tender. Full of the words that he could tell Nicolò wasn’t ready to say back to him just yet, but he didn’t need to hear them. He could feel them here. They probably both had terrible breath, but they couldn’t have cared less. 

Just after Yusuf leaned further in to deepen the kiss, the warm weight between them began to wiggle. Nicolò smiled against Yusuf’s lips. “I’m amazed she let us get this far. Let me change her, and I’ll be right back.”

Not content to stay put with Nicolò did all the work—God knows he’d done enough so far—Yusuf followed and watched intently as Nicolò cleaned her up. He couldn’t feed her, but this he could do. It was silly to think, but he hoped Nicolò never had to change her diaper again.

As he settled back on the bed and began to feed Caterina, Yusuf pressed himself close to Nicolò, dropping small kisses to his collarbone, his cheek, the shell of his ear. It felt like a miracle. Like at any moment, he’d woke up, cold and alone on the side of the road, no closer to reaching Nicolò and their child. 

Nicolò interrupted his reverie as he switched Caterina from one nipple to the other. “Do you want to carry her today? I can help you tie the wrap if you’d like.”

He’d like nothing more and told Nicolò as much. So as soon as Caterina had drank her fill, Nicolò tied her to Yusuf with a long stretch of cloth and several well-placed knots. Caterina fussed a little as she was pressed up against a different chest than she was used to, but she settled quickly enough.

Yusuf tried to remember every detail of how she felt against him. Her soft skin, her warm breath, her curls tickling his chin when he leaned down to breathe her in. He could hear the inn stirring below them, knew that everyone else was likely up already but had chosen to give their little family some space. But now it was time to face the world. The three of them, together.

—

The days at the inn blurred together, and before Nicolò knew it, Yusuf had been there almost two months. After a few weeks enjoying getting to know Nicolò and Caterina, Andromache and Quynh had left to help guard a merchant caravan heading down the coast. As much as they had enjoyed getting to Sarai too, Nicolò suspected that they weren’t suited quiet domesticity of the inn was not sustainable for the two wanderers. So they’d set out on the road again, promising to write when they were done with this string of jobs.

Without too much fanfare, Yusuf had moved his things into Nicolò’s room after that first morning they’d woken up together. Now he blushed to think of all the mornings (and evenings, and quickly in the afternoons while Caterina napped) they’d had since. How tenderly they’d gotten to know each other again, how happy their mutual pleasure made him. He knew that Yusuf was beautiful, had a beautiful body made for pleasure, and while he’d enjoyed the rushed ferocity of their first time together, getting to truly explore each other was beyond words.

He and Yusuf spent their days together, with more free time on their hands as another set of hands at the inn lightened the load. They only parted when Sarai sent Yusuf on some errand around town. As much he could tell Yusuf hated to be parted from Caterina, how much he cherished every moment and wanted to make up for lost time and then some, he always jumped at the chance to be helpful to Sarai, to prove that he belonged here.

Sarai had tutted at him when they’d come down that morning, hair mussed and Caterina strapped to Yusuf. “I had hoped you might make him work for it, but I could tell how much that would have cost both of you. So I’m happy that’s settled then.”

Still, she was a pragmatist and didn’t miss an opportunity to pawn a few of the more unpleasant tasks around the inn onto Yusuf or make him deal with the more odious guests. To Yusuf’s credit, he never said a word out of turn. 

At night they laid awake and told each other all the places they wanted to take their daughter, the wonders they wanted to show her. She was so curious, wide eyes absorbing everything. She now rode around strapped to one of their backs so she could more easily see the world. They couldn’t wait to show here more of it.

One night, Yusuf had cautiously broached the subject of her healing, if she showed any signs of being like them. Nicolò told him of the first time she rolled over. Nicolò turned his back for just a second, and suddenly she was crying on the floor. There had been bruise on her bum that had lasted about a day, but he couldn’t say if that was normal for a child her age.

Whatever the case was, they decided not to spend their lives worrying about it. If they had 50 years or 50 centuries with her, they’d cherish every moment. Hold her in their hearts for as long as they lived.

After a few months, they moved from the inn into their own cottage. An old friend of Sarai’s had it on his land, and he couldn’t manage the upkeep himself any more. He let it to them for a pittance, only asking that they took good care of it. A few days dusting off cobwebs and patching the leaky roof, and it was as cozy as it had ever been.

Caterina grew like a weed. And with Yusuf around to share the load, and Caterina starting to supplement his milk with solid foods, Nicolò had filled back out. Not as pleasantly plump as Yusuf might have liked, but he was strong with a rosy, healthy glow to his cheeks. 

They knew they’d have to move on eventually. Say goodbye to Sarai and the life they’d built here. It had been over ten years now since they’d died in Jerusalem, and no grey hairs had come to join the few he’d had at that time. Yusuf had the same number of laugh lines he’d always had. But when they were so deliriously happy, the seasons slipping past in a warm glow, it was easy to forget.

They were reminded of their reality when Caterina was just over two years old. She’d turned into such a sweet girl, toddling around the inn and talking the ears off of anyone who would listen, though few could follow the strange mishmash of Arabic and Genoese she spoke. But as adventurous as she was, she didn’t hesitate to take her afternoon nap on Yusuf or Nicolò’s back, her arms draped over their shoulders, legs kicking at their sides as she was rocked to sleep by the motion of them going through their routines.

As Caterina became more mobile, she of course had little bumps and scrapes, but never anything serious. And like before, they could never tell if she healed any faster than a normal girl. One day, Yusuf came back from picking up some cheese for Sarai at the market. It had been a busy morning, but it had turned into a quiet afternoon. Caterina passed the time chasing the cat that lived in the courtyard. At seeing Yusuf come round the back of the house, she shrieked, “Baba!” and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. But her enthusiasm outweighed her skill, and she tripped over a stray rock, falling and knocking her head against the hard ground.

The tears were immediate as blood started to seep from a cut on her forehead and into her eye. Yusuf scooped her up instantly, whispering soothing words and rubbing her back. Nicolò and Sarai of course heard from where they’d been cooking together in the kitchen. 

Sarai brought a clean rag to her forehead and wiped the blood away to see the cut. She spoke with the confidence of someone who’d brought plenty of children and grandchildren through to adulthood. “It’s on her head, so it’ll bleed and look worse than it is. But I’m sure it will heal fine. No need to stitch it. She’ll have a scar, though.”

But a week later, nothing. Not a single mark on her. They tried not to think about it, though. It was too dangerous to hope. 

—

Caterina turned five, and Sarai complimented Nicolò on his youthful, handsome looks. How five years of parenting such a lively girl hadn’t turned all his hair grey. He accepted the compliment, but that night he and Yusuf looked at each other sadly and knew it was time. 

Caterina was old enough to safely ride in the saddle with either of them, and Andromache and Quynh had written a few months ago, saying they’d settled in Alexandria for a time and giving instructions of how to find them in the city if they wanted to join them. Their dreams of showing Caterina the world became more real. 

On the day of their departure, Sarai came to wish them goodbye and fill their packs with sweets and fresh bread. They had enough coin from the last few years for two horses, with enough to stay at decent inns and eat well along the journey. How far they’d come since the last time they’d ridden together.

They all cried, promising that they’d be back and that they would never forget this place. The latter was true, but they knew the former was impossible. It was easier to than admitting that this was it, though. 

They’d reached Tartus where they hoped to find a ship to take them to Alexandria when as they were swinging off their horses, Caterina decided that a girl of her age could get off by herself, not be picked up by her Papa and placed on the ground. She swung her leg over the horse, but missed the stirrup and slipped down to the cobblestones. 

There was only a few scrapes, but Nicolò could tell her ankle was sprained. It was well on its way to being twice its usual size. Yusuf carried her up to their room, booked for a few days because they knew Caterina couldn’t travel until the swelling and pain subsided. She eventually cried herself to sleep with her foot propped up on the pillows. Yusuf and Nicolò dozed off each holding one of her hands.

But in the morning, she rose and took turns jumping on her Papa and Baba, who slept on either side of her. Telling them to wake up, it was time to go to Alexandria. Nicolò looked down at her ankle. Perfect, unblemished skin. No swelling. Not even a yellowing bruise. 

He and Yusuf locked eyes. He was holding back tears, and Yusuf had the most radiant smile on his face. “Yes, my heart. Let’s meet the day and see what adventure we can find together.”


End file.
